...did she just?

No – musta been the liquor making him hear things. Trevor still looked around to try and spot a cat. Failing that, he settled back. Wind or some shit. Could always blame that guy for whatever you misheard. And he was propped up with more liquid than any flamefearing individual should be. That could work too.

„You ever pulled back a branch so it hits the kid behind you when you were little?“ He chose to omit the thump and the crunch and the slosh when the first two were done. People could damn well make their own bad memories, they didn't need any of his. „Kinda like that. Only it was a big fu...big branch.“ The dirt looked kinda like it did back then. Not as much on his boots this time around.

„Anyway, Benny got twonked upside the head.“ He knocked on the mugwood, without realizing. Caught himself there. That was...what the fuck was wrong with him?

„Jerrem we lost in the brush. Didn't see much.“ Heard plenty. „The others... um.“ Looked at some people eating. „We found most of 'em later.“

...was the brother's name Andy?

Trevor shook away the thought. How did that mad bastard ever know they were coming?

„I don't think these people like being found.“ Perhaps it was just being found by the likes of him they took issue with. And fair. He'd dislike that too.

He wondered if there'd be someone there who'd still recognize him. He'd shrunk since. But counting on such things wasn't the smartest idea. Never was known as a smart man...

„You...um...“ And he hushed himself some. „...any good at stealing horses?“
 
Brighid's childhood memories came from a very different direction than Trevor's. As a girl she had seen sticks as magic wands, which were much better for imaginary zapping than physical whacking, and had the added benefit of avoiding mother's wrath.

His tale reminded her somewhat of those childhood adventures. As if he'd made it up on the spot to see just how naive she really was. His expression was serious enough, but the man probably played a lot of poker. He could just as easily be trying to gain just enough of her trust for her to follow him into the woods so he could knock her out and bring her back home without a single pence in her pocket.

A wiser person would simply pay him for the location and explore it at her leisure. Then the worst she would lose was some money. Better than one's freedom or safety. But there was something that had been bending her ear, so to speak, since the card game last night: something between a vague, barely-remembered dream and the faintest notes of a distant song. Of her song.

She was still contemplating how dire she found the end of Trevor's telling when his question caught her off-guard. He had been annoyingly good at that.

"No." Fact was she didn't consider herself good at stealing anything. Then again, she'd never tried. "I travel better on my own feet, truth be told. They don't try to bite or kick me in the head when they're in a bad mood."

Another consideration made her glance around at the other people around them until she saw a disgruntled dwarf glaring at everyone beneath bleary eyes and a scowl. Some would call three a lucky number... in Brighid's case, she would call it a security measure.

"Hey Rune, what are you up to--?"

"Nay. Whate'r it is. Nay."

Brighid tsked. "Your loss."

"Donnae care."

Her eyes flicked back to Trevor and she lowered her voice to a whisper. "I believe Rune has a couple of horses near her wagon."

@Trevor
 
Between the rich that meow and dwarves that...neigh?... it was hard to keep his head off a swivel. Luckily he was not an owl, else he'd spin like one of those well carved toys carpenters sometimes made to show off. But who was he to judge? Hoo indeed?

The short woman was not interested in whatever they were selling. Gift of a merchant. Didn't need to see any teeth to tell that horse to buck. And speaking of horses, his brows went up at the mention of Rune's.

He didn't need to look too far to find the beasts in question. Hadn't even made it past their socks before it struck him as odd. Tall. Far too tall for any groundloving runefolk. Humans may have made jokes of broken hips, but a significantly calcified dwarf could shatter far more. Draught animals, maybe. He knew better than to ask those he'd be stealing from their age, but the thought ate at him. Remembered the others calling those black-and-blues. Which was funny cause there was nothing blue about 'em. Someone probably got hoofed enough times for words to change meaning. He knew them as roans, greying things that couldn't quite settle on a color. Forever peppered with one and salted with another. Reminded him more of a fancy dish than an animal.

But how do you steal horses midmorning?

If there'd been a breakfast window he'd likely drunk through it. Woulda cursed the weakness, but the warmth still sat pleasant on his breath.

Sure would be lucky if a couple ran off and got tired just shy of lost. The thought hummed inside him, and he found himself humming too. Strange. Those rarely leaked out. Musta been air coming out to allow booze more space to settle. Surely.

The tack on the further one remembered it had things to do other. Things other than keeping the nervous beast in place. In its rush to move, it failed to be subtle and found an old fray at its base and snapped it clean. A whip of disturbance, gave the first beast a start, gave the dwarf something to look at. Sound spread like fire between the improvised herd at graze. A snap and another, hooves clomping and horses spreading through the camp like dandelion fluff.

Trevor bit the inside of his cheek. He had never learned to be exact. But this had been too much, it would make a lot more than just one upset stone lady chase the spreading animals.

Still, far as thievery went, a good job. Because things stealing themselves is what made the best thieves.
 
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